by Serenity Wintirs
I don't really know what made me decide to go out to the garden that day. Maybe it was the way the sun
cast golden rods of light onto the ground. Maybe it was the way the roses always smelled at this time of year as
as the sun sunk into the milky white clouds, turning the sky into a vast ocean of crimson to match the wonderful hue that littered the ground.
Or maybe it was just my own restlessness that caused tiny knots to form in my stomach whenever I stayed still for too long.
I guess that it doesn't really matter anyway since I would have probably met him eventually whether I went out or
stayed inside and watched the same boring shows as I did any other day.
I can't really say that it was fate nor can I deny it, but at the moment that I laid eyes on him, I felt a sense of
acceptance like I had never before experienced. A connection that surpassed physical attraction. There was something in his eyes that
told me that he knew something that I didn't. Something that I needed to know. I must have stood there forever, just staring into his
luminescent abysmal eyes, waiting for the mystery in them to reveal itself to me. When I finally realized how childish I was being,
I returned his smile and introduced myself.
I know what you are thinking; it sounds perfect, and it is. I still remember how wonderful that first date was.
We had diner on the roof of the tallest building that we could find.
The night was warm and the wind was strongly scented from the fresh rains of the previous night. The breeze felt so nice against
my scantily clad back and bare shoulders. He gave me red roses that night and everything was perfect.
(1) He still gives me red roses, but these ones are different.. He told me about his mother once.
He told me how they would dance beneath the moonlight and she would give him red roses when she was stressed or angry,
just to remind him how much she loved him. She loved him very much.
He loves me very much too, so he gives me red roses just to remind me how much he loves me.
My friends ask where I get them . They say they are worried. They are just jealous.
They don't realize that the roses are a symbol for our love. He only gives them to me. Only me.
I try to hide them because no one understands. Everyone wants to tear us apart because they don't think that our love is real.
They don't understand. They couldn't if they tried. Their love isn't as passionate
as ours. It isn't as intense or emotional. They have never experienced our kind of passion. They don't want to anyway.
They have their kind of love and we have ours. So what if it is painful? Isn't love about pain anyway?
I still haven't learned his secret, The mystery that lies behind his dark eyes. Maybe it is about me. I wnder if I will ever learn.
How many roses will I have earned and lost from him before I understand what his eyes are telling me. It used to excite me, but now it just frightens me. I hate the red roses. I think that I even hate him, but that makes me love him even more. I look around me and see red roses everywhere but in the garden. He doesn't like them there anymore. Maybe their beauty frightens him like my beauty frightens me. I look in the mirror at the red roses.
The beautiful red roses that he loves so much. Maybe the secret lies in them instead.
Maybe I will never know. Maybe I should rest now... so tired. I take one last look at the roses.
The beautiful red roses that he gives me. Only me.
Author's Note: This story is AU (obviously). Hopefully everyone understands the metaphor and I don't have to explain it. Just in case someone didn't get it, this story is about abuse. (1) From this point in the story, the roses become a metaphor, so she is no longer talking about actual roses. This story was inspired by a poem by Anne Sexton of the same name. If you are still having trouble understanding the rose metaphor, I suggest you check it out http:
This wasn't at all what I had in mind when I began writing it, so I hope that it didn't come out too pointless or metaphorical. It can be told from any character's point of view since I didn't really write in any distinguishing factors. I did have Ellie in mind when I wrote it though. Alas, I do not own Degrassi and flames will be used in an eloborate satanic revenge ritual. This is my first degrassi fanfic so if you don't like it, call 1800-Who Cares. I am done wasting your time now.